Take My Hand
by LadySolitaire83
Summary: Follow-up to Kisses & Tulips. Molly and Sherlock go on their Valentine's Day date. Happy Valentine's Day, Sherlollians!


**TAKE MY HAND**

 **14 February 2017**

 **A/N: Happy Valentine's Day to my lovely Sherlollians! This follows** _ **Kisses & Tulips**_ **, so I recommend that y'all read that one first. Empress-of-Versace on wanted to read about the actual date, so I wrote it… two years ago!**

 **Just like in** _ **Kisses & Tulips**_ **, this is set after "His Last Vow". I wrote the first story before Series 4 was written, so these two fics aren't Series 4 canon-compliant. Also, I'm aware that the writing styles may be different, because my style has changed since 2014.**

 **Hope y'all like this one!**

 **I own nothing. Everything belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, BBC, Steven Moffat, and Mark Gatiss. If I owned Sherlock and Molly Hooper, then there would be a lot more Sherlolly in the show. All mistakes are mine. Reviews and constructive criticism are welcome.**

* * *

Molly gazed at her reflection in the mirror. Running her hands along the sides of her deep purple dress, she wondered what Sherlock saw in this particular piece of clothing. "Is it because it kind of matches his purple shirt of sex?" she muttered to herself. Giggling, she turned round and raised an eyebrow at her likeness. "Or is it because my arse looks good in this frock?"

She spun to face Toby, who was licking his paw on her bed. "What do you think, Tobes? Do you think Sherlock Holmes will love this dress on me?"

He meowed in response before returning his attention to his paw.

Sighing, she inspected her appearance again. _Dress that shows off what curves I've got? Check. Hair and make-up that don't seem like I tried too hard? Check. Perfume that isn't overwhelming to the nose? Check. Tights that will keep my toes from freezing? Check. Shoes that will minimise our height difference? Check._ Taking a deep breath, she gave her reflection a quick nod. "All righty then."

She grabbed her purple clutch bag from the bed and hurriedly dropped her date essentials––mobile phone, keys, compact, lipstick, several banknotes, and (after some hesitation) some condom packets––in it. "Be good, Toby, all right?" she reminded her cat as she slipped on her shoes.

Five minutes later, she heard the knock on her door. "One moment!" she yelled as she slipped into her jet-black trench coat and picked up the clutch bag from the front hall table. She peered through the peephole before opening the door.

"Hi, Sherlock."

The consulting detective swallowed hard and slowly looked her over. He cleared his throat before gesturing towards her outfit. "Good. You wore the purple dress at the very back of your wardrobe. And your hair, um, looks lovely styled that way."

She blushed as she awkwardly touched her loose curls. "Thank you for the suggestions." Biting her bottom lip, she eyed the straining buttons on his shirt. "I see you wore your purple shirt." She narrowed her eyes and placed a hand on her hip. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

Sighing, he rolled his eyes before ruffling his own hair to the pathologist's delight. "Shall we?"

"We shall." She stepped out and quickly locked her door. Her heart thumped when he placed his hand on her back and kept it there during the short walk towards the ageing lift.

They rode the lift in silence until she remembered something. "Oh, I think I saw the pageboy at John and Mary's wedding on the Tube yesterday."

"Archie? I haven't heard from that clever boy in a while." He took her hand and interlaced their fingers. "You know, he reminds me of myself when I was a child. Always curious, questioning everything and everyone, and interested in morbid things."

She giggled, hoping that he did not notice the quickening of her pulse at their joined hands. "I did the same things when I was little. You have no idea how many dolls and teddy bears I destroyed, because I wanted to perform autopsies on them. I wanted to see what was inside them. I was usually disappointed because their insides weren't like the ones I saw on my dad's science books."

"How long did it take you to graduate to lab mice?" he asked as he flagged down a cab.

"My dad started teaching me proper post-mortem procedures when I was eight," she replied once they were settled in the cab and on their way to the restaurant. "Of course, I wasn't allowed to do anything by myself until I was about 13. You?"

"Oh, my mum let me help with her maths calculations when I was nine. I started reading chemistry books at that age too. What did your mum teach? English Literature?" he asked as he rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb.

She stared at him for a moment before shaking her head. "How you deduced that is beyond me. Anyway, she still teaches at the local sixth-form college. She's a really good writer and a voracious reader."

"Yet your skills in grammar and spelling are appalling. Your mum must be so disappointed," he teased while he paid the cabbie.

"Says the man who deleted everything about the solar system in his mind palace. That must break your dad's heart," she retorted as he escorted her out of the cab.

To her surprise, he laughed. "Touché."

While Sherlock checked their coats, Molly caressed the hand that he held during the entire cab ride. She rather liked how his giant hand felt around her own. Judging from how sweet and gentlemanly he was acting, however, she could not help but wonder if this was a real date or if he was on a case. She shut her eyes at the memory of the tabloid headlines after he betrayed Janine. _I just hope he'd tell me the truth before I snog the hell out of him._

She felt his fingers interlock with hers before she felt his warm breath on her ear. "Are you all right, Molly?"

She looked up at him and smiled, even as her heart began to pound in her chest. There was something in his eyes that made her question her own doubts, and she wanted to ask him about it. But she could not find the courage. Yet. "Yeah, I'm great. What about you?"

He smiled. "Me? I'm wonderful." He tugged her forward, just as the owner arrived to show them to their table.

While Sherlock and Giulia caught up with each other, she looked round the posh restaurant and spotted John and Mary Watson. The former army doctor caught her eye and waved, while Mary looked up and smiled at her. _I wonder how long it'd take Mary to kick Sherlock's arse_ , she mused as she waved and grinned back at the couple. She nervously glanced at her date before shrugging apologetically at their friends. _Well, at least Mary hasn't risen from her chair to punch Sherlock in the face._

Giulia brought them to a table––the only one with the vase of red tulips in the middle––in a secluded area of the restaurant. The tall, voluptuous woman beamed at them as Sherlock pulled out her seat for her. "Here you go, Mr Holmes and Dr Hooper. Don't you worry about anything. Everything is on the house." The owner placed her hand over her heart and bowed before them. "Only the best for Sherlock Holmes and his date."

It was indeed the best dinner date she had ever had. The food and wine were excellent, and the service was superb. And Sherlock was incredibly attentive, no doubt using his deductive powers to anticipate her needs.

While they ate, they talked about cadavers, cases, scientific and medical breakthroughs, their friends, and even crap telly. She also helped him with a couple of old puzzles that had baffled him, prompting him to quip that their next date should be spent combing through boxes of unsolved cases while eating Thai or Indian takeaway. _There's gonna be a next date?_ Even when silence fell over them, it was not awkward. To her infinite joy, they both spent those periods of silence glancing and smiling shyly at each other.

"So… How did I do?" he asked while they were finishing their wine.

"You mean, as a date?" She giggled at his tiny nod. "God, I know you don't need any ego boost, but you did well tonight. Better than I expected, actually." She grinned brightly at him. "Thank you for tonight, Sherlock."

"In a word, 'perfect,' then?" He gazed at her with barely restrained hope in his eyes.

She rolled her eyes and shook her head, but she kept her smile on. "Yes."

He exhaled in relief and took her hand. "Excellent."

 _I really should just ask him if this is an official date or what._ She sipped from her glass before clearing her throat. "So have you eaten the chocolate I gave you earlier today?"

He stared at her, as if he was taken aback by her question. "What? Oh, no, not yet." He softly coughed. "I was, um, hoping that we'd share it afterwards… at Baker Street. If that's what you want, that is."

 _We're going to his flat after this?_ "All right. But what happens then? I mean, after we finish the Hershey's Kisses, what are we gonna do? Watch _Casualty_ , _Murdoch Mysteries_ , or _The Flash_?"

He shook his head. "What do _you_ want to do?"

She lifted an eyebrow. "I don't know. What do _you_ wanna do?"

"Oh, no, no. Tonight is all about you, Molly."

"All right," she replied with a smile and a quick nod. "Perhaps we can walk back to Baker Street. We can talk some more or just walk in comfortable silence, preferably holding hands the whole time. You?"

He smirked. "Well, hopefully, we'll be snogging on the sofa or in my chair."

"In your chair, eh?" She giggled. "Am I supposed to straddle your lap while we snog?"

He shrugged, his eyes twinkling in mischief. "There's not enough room for both of us in it. If you'd like, you can also sit on my lap while we kiss on the sofa. Either that, or we lie on it."

"We're not going to snog all night, are we?"

"It's completely up to you. I don't mind waiting for us to consummate our relationship."

"Relationship?" she repeated.

"Yes, a relationship." He let her hand go long enough for him to move his chair closer to hers. "Molly, y-you still love me, don't you?"

Her chest ached at the scared look on his face. "Of course I do. I love you, Sherlock," she reassured him as she squeezed his hand. "But do _you_ love me? Are _you_ in love with me?"

He took her free hand in his. "Yes, of course. I wouldn't have taken you to dinner if I didn't have romantic feelings for you."

"So this is real? This isn't like the thing with Janine? You truly love me?"

"Yes!" he replied impatiently and rolled his eyes. "If you must know, I've probably loved you since before I came back from the dead. But then you were with someone else, and I thought I'd completely lost my chance. So I kept my mouth shut, because I didn't want to hurt you ever again, even if I knew that you didn't really love Tom. Well, not as much as you love me."

She giggled at his failure to hide his smugness. "Sorry," she quietly said when he frowned at the interruption.

"Then when you finally ended your engagement," he continued with a deep sigh, "I was faking a romantic relationship with Janine to get access to Magnussen. And when the Moriarty broadcast made the plane turn around, the first thing on my mind was _your_ safety and well-being. Well, at least until I began to wonder how Moriarty could have survived blowing his own brains out, which you and I both know is impossible."

"OK, so why haven't you said anything since you came back from your short exile?" she asked in a soft voice.

"Because you mean a great deal to me, and I don't want to ruin our friendship in case you'd rather be with someone more deserving of your affections. If you chose to be in a relationship with me and I fucked it up anyway, I can't bear to cause you emotional distress after everything you've done for me. I'd rather have you in my life than not be in it for whatever reason." He took a deep breath and squeezed her hand. "I just… I care about you so m––"

Molly pulled him closer by the nape of his neck and silenced him with her mouth. The sincerity in his voice was making her emotional, and she could not help herself. _I'd be happy to stop kissing him if he asked me to. But please, God, make him kiss me back!_ To her delight, his lips stayed still for only a moment. When they started moving against her lips, she knew that she would not want to kiss anyone else.

She pulled away when the need for oxygen arose, leaving both of them panting. She gently cupped his face. "Sherlock, I understand your concerns, because I've been thinking about them too. But I love you–– _all of you_ ––and I want to be with you. I'm here for you as long as you want me in your life. Also, neither of us has been exactly conventional; so why start now? We don't have to go out to dinner all the time or snog in public. We can just stay in and watch telly or experiment on body parts I lend you. We can get takeaway and just talk about science and bees. Or we can go to John and Mary's for dinner. I can occasionally come out to help you at crime scenes if John isn't available, especially now that he's about to be a father. But we can also snog and make love whenever we both feel like it. All I ask is for you to be honest and real with me, and I promise to do the same. Do you want to be with me?"

"Oh, God, yes," he breathed.

"Are you willing to try to work on the relationship and to be a better person?"

"Yes," he whispered and gave her a genuinely happy smile.

She gave him a peck on the lips, and then rose from her seat. She offered him a hand, while the other clutched her bag. "Would you like to take a walk back to your flat? We can eat those chocolates I gave you when we get bored or whatever."

He took her hand and stood as well. "Let's just take our leave of Giulia."

"All right. Maybe we can say hello to John and Mary if they're still here. I just hope she doesn't tackle you to the ground," she teased.

"Oh, she won't. We didn't crash their dinner, did we? She's going to be so smug though," he remarked with a smirk, making her laugh.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Sherlock," she whispered as they walked away from the table.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Molly," he replied before kissing her again.

* * *

 _Just like three years ago, Hershey's did not pay me to promote their product. I wish. Hehe._

 _So what do you think? Hate it? Like it? Love it?_


End file.
